


The Village

by ann_and_white_elephant



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Arranged Marriage, Bronze Age, F/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Valyria
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-04
Updated: 2018-11-04
Packaged: 2019-08-17 14:26:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 15,001
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16518200
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ann_and_white_elephant/pseuds/ann_and_white_elephant
Summary: Different world, different time, Jon and Arya still meet.





	The Village

**Girl's mercy**

Thin rain was falling. The world was half hidden by mists and the path walk to the hill grew slippery, yet the whole village came this morning. It had been more than two years since they had seen the last execution. Then, they were punishing one of their own and the mood was somber. Now though... This man was a stranger. His death would be no tragedy, only a spectacle granted them by gods. And yet, Arya felt herself drown in a feeling of dread and foreboding.

Half lost in thoughts she tugged at her cloak and rearranged it to better keep the chill at bay. She was one of the last to arrive. No one tried to talk to her, and she tried to talk to no one. Dalla, the priest started to sing and Arya found herself turning away back to the village. The mist was thicker there, but the shapes could still be told apart. The houses, the old palisade around, even the well in the middle. Nor traders from the south, neither miners of tin from west or hunters from the north ventured here now as often as in the times of Arya's grandfather, but Winter Field remained the biggest village in twelve days walk. It was strange to see it so quiet and devout from its people. Arya's gaze switched towards hill across the one where they were all gathered. That was the place where they buried their dead, and where Arya's family rested.  _All but Sansa_. Arya would rather not think of her sister.

She turned back and came to face a pair of curious blue eyes. A child with coal-black hair peeked at her from its mother's arms. Jeyne's son. The cloaked woman who held him was Jeyne herself like as not, Arya guessed with a pinch of resentment. The boy was growing fast, soon they would name him and one day, he would grow up to be as tall and strong as his father. He had his looks.  _I like you Arya, but I won't wait forever,_  Gendry had told her and he kept his word.

When Arya had been young she was the beloved daughter of the village chief, Gendry just a child whom someone left abandoned in front of the gate. Then, no one had thought she would marry him. Barely a decade later winds of their lives had turned. Gendry had been taught secrets of metals by old Noye and gained his worth. Arya lost almost everything with the death of her parents and brothers. Gendry asked for her even then, stubborn fool he was. And maybe she was more fool herself, because she couldn't say him yes.  

She would not regret her choice, Arya wowed, not for the first time. Not even with the village turning against her. Not even with Sansa’s upcoming arrival threatening to destroy what reminded of her life. It might be a short life, if she upheld her only plan Arya mused with cold calmness, but not as short as  _his_.

The captive was led before them. His hands were tied. He was held between two men and surrounded by three others. His feet were barefoot and only torn tunic remained of his clothing. He was neither short, nor tall. Mussels of his arms and chest spoke of a strong man in his prime. Whatever he was handsome or comely, no one could guess. What of his face wasn’t concealed by dark hair and beard, was covered by bruises. Drop of blood formed on his broken lip. 

The priestess went quiet and Roose stepped forward. Arya fisted her hands in helpless anger as she looked at the man who had stolen her father's place. Roose's voice was quiet, but every man, woman and child heard his words clearly.

"This outlander stole fruit from our trees and attacked our men. It is our right to punish him by death. But ancient customs must be upheld before that. So it is I ask you, is there any woman unmarried or widowed who would take him for her husband and save his life?" 

Arya’s father had told her that the law came from the times when wars, plagues or winters took too many of the folk. It was upheld in every village in the north. Arya had seen two punishments already, but never a marriage came of it.

No one had taken Symon two years past or the wildling, captured when she was twelve. Jonelle with lame leg had almost came forward for the wildling, but Jonelle's cousin stopped her. The woman had been well past thirty then, now she was past forty and would just make a fool of herself. There were other women and girls with no hope for better marriage. Poor Marna who had to take care of six children alone. Blind Bethany whom no one would wed though her uncle promised to give two cows together with a girl. Fair-haired Lanna who was known to bed every other man as her mother had been. Then of course there was Arya herself. But if she wanted to get married, she would have taken Gendry's offer. Arya looked around. The women and girls of the village remained silent.

 _The captive will die today_ , Arya thought. She looked at him again and their gazes met. His left eye was swollen and almost closed, but the right one was dark grey, a color no different from hers. When he started to talk suddenly, in some strange foreign tongue, she knew his words were meant to her, though she could not understand.

One of the Roose's men gave the prisoner a hard slap to face and that quieted him, but as soon as the outlander regained his composure he looked at her again.  _Does he know, what is happening here_? Arya wondered.  _Does he know I can help him?_ It would not be without a heavy price for her.  _He is naught to me_ , she reminded herself.  _Why should I pay for his life with mine?_ Yet, when Roose asked for the last time, she found herself answering.

"I will take this man."

No emotion made it to Roose's bloodless face, but people in front of her turned to stare. She found Gendry not so far to her left. Even avoiding his face, she could sense his accusation and hurt. Their friendship had become strained after she refused his offer and now she might have ruined it for good.

"Arya, child, we have all seen your field. You barely have enough food to see yourself through winter, and your house is half a ruin." Roose reminded her as if she needed to be told." I will give you one more chance. Put aside you pride. If you want a husband, I can ask any unwed man serving in my house."

She would rather kiss red-hot coals than agree to that. "I will take this man," Arya repeated firmly.

"As you wish." Roose consented. "Before gods and men, you are now bound in marriage. On the noon I will come to your house with two witnesses to confirm the consummation of the union. If you wish, you can gather two witnesses of your own."

Arya flushed with anger and shame as she gathered his meaning. Witnesses had been sometimes called to marriage bed. But only when there was a doubt that that the man was healthy enough for the bedding. "That is not necessary." She objected.

"You forget yourself, girl. Your family no longer rules this village. You gave your word in a grave matter; do you mean to break it?" Roose inquired.

"I will stand by my choice." She promised through gritted teeth. Arya had too few friends to win this battle and she would not let herself be called liar and craven. With her chin held high she walked to the prisoner. Only when she was a step away from him, Roose's men released their hold and cut the rope tying his hands. Her new  _husband_  looked at her confused. She took his hand as if he was a child or blind and led him. Arya ignored all of stares pointed her way. Soft rain was chilling her exposed skin, but at least the man’s own touch was warm.

The big house of Arya's childhood was now just a pile of burned clay and ash. She had taken her shelter in an old abandoned dwelling. Bigger section of its roof felt apart years ago, but it still held strong above the last of three rooms. Inside she managed to keep it clean and well ordered. Arya looked around helplessly. Her narrow bed, old stools, a small oven, rugs that served as Nymeria's cot – it all seemed same as in the morning.  _There is no better jester than the gods_ , someone once told her,  _and none crueler_. This morning she had woken up to live the life she knew, but without any warning she was a married woman now.

Her new husband was looking around with a raw interest of a child. He made no move so far to claim her as a wife and for that she was grateful.  _But it will come to that_. Whenever she willed it or not. She gave him another long look and decided that there was one thing she should do in the spare time. With pail in hand she left the house to get water.

The rain had stopped and even the mist was disassembling. At the well old Nan was talking to Beth, the youngest of Rodrik's daughters. They quieted when Arya reached them. People had started to shun her after her family's death. Some maybe believed that ill luck went from man to man like lice. And many, she was sure, were swayed by Roose's quiet toneless words. Her last folly was unlikely to make her any more beloved. Arya waited patiently as both Nan and Beth draw their take. She couldn’t help but wish she could have gone to springs by the village instead. Beth kept giving her bewildered glances as if Arya suddenly grown another head and managed to spill half of her water before she hurried away.

 _I have few hours_ ,  _maybe I should just run away,_ Arya thought as she was staring in the dark pit of the well. But that was just another foolishness. Until she fully upheld her part of the bargain, the man in her house was not free, and neither was she. Roose would hunt them down like a wounded deer. No, today, she would have to swallow her pride and endure, but tomorrow...

It didn't occur to her, in that short time she was away, that she could find her house empty.

Cold sweat drenched her. Did he run away? Wouldn't she do the same in his place?  _Why Nymeria has to be hunting just now!_  Arya was half forming a plan how to find the man, when she heard a noise. She put aside heavy bear-skin which covered the entrance to the ruined part of the house. The outlander was there, surrounded by crumbling walls overgrown by weed and young birches. He was standing in front of a midden and taking piss.

Arya had to fight a wild laugh sparkled by absurdity of it all.  _Sansa has always said that my misplaced mercy will be the end of me,_ she mused. Instead of lingering on those thoughts she set herself to work. Arya rekindled the fire and started to heat water. Soon, the man returned. He seated himself on a stool and watched her quietly. Once she was done with water, she handed him a piece of clean fabric, and new clothes and left outside with arrows she needed to fletch.

He was done sooner than she. When the man peeked from the house's entrance Arya was pleased to see that he had understood. The dirt from his body was gone, only the bruises remained. The tunic was too long and wide and breeches too short for his frame, but that would have to do for now. Later she would try to trade something better from other women. Despite her mother's best efforts, Arya herself had been never any good with looms or needles. That had been always a sore matter between them.  _Among other things._  Catelyn had been furious, when Arya brought a stray wolf pup home. Arya doubted her mother would have been any happier about the stray man. 

He was looking at her now, but she didn’t know what to make of it. Arya put aside her work and they returned to the house. She poured both of them beer and took out bread and smoked fish. The man ate so quickly she was afraid, he would get sick. Thankfully, that didn't happen. As soon as the food was gone, he smiled at her.  _I was right, not to let them kill him._  Only if there was not a price to be paid for her mercy.

Suddenly, the man’s hand reached for hers. Arya startled at the touch. Quickly he let her go. He tried to speak to her, but she could not understand a word. Their tongues were too different.

She shook her head. "I don't know what you are saying."

He looked thoughtful at that, but then he pointed at her, and she understood that he was asking her name.

"Arya," she answered.

"A' rja," he tried to repeat.

"Arya," she told him again.

"Arya," the name still sounded strange in his accent, but she supposed that it would have to do. When he noticed, she didn't correct him this time, he pointed at himself again and spoke: "Jon".

"Jon?" Arya raised her brows in disbelief. It was such a laughably common name. She knew many Jons. Jon from Arryn, Jon the son of Eleana from the songs and Jon called the Wolf who had been her grand-grandfather. 

"Jon," the man repeated with satisfaction and gave her a wide smile. Arya was somehow pleased to notice that despite the beating, he had kept all his teeth.

That smile still lingered at his face when it was interrupted by a yawn. Arya took a one look at his closing eyes and gestured to her own bed. He was asleep in no time at all and she took her chance to watch him undisturbed.

His face was still swollen and covered by bruises, but it would be probably not unpleasant once healed. There was no white in his dark hair or beard and when she looked at his hands, she was sure, he couldn't be more than ten years older than her.  _Do you have a wife back home_ , she wondered,  _or even children? Do you wish to return to them?_ Arya assured herself that it didn't matter. It was enough that he would stay until Roose's demand was met.

The village folk would never stop sneering at her if her husband left her, but she hadn't meant to stay anyway. In fortnight Sansa would come. By then Arya meant to be away. Far north trying to join wildlings – a folk which kept neither fields nor cattle. With winter coming and her provision rather short she knew that she was as likely to find death by cold or starvation as wildlings. And even if she succeeded in finding them, the rest might go sourly. It was not a good plan, Arya knew, but it was the only plan she had to avoid whatever scheme her sister baked for her own good.  _I have no choice, it's better to at least try_ , she repeated to herself. But was it as true now, as it had been yesterday? As if he could hear her thoughts Jon whispered something softly in his sleep. Arya's hand touched his cheek and traveled to his hair. It was still damp and surprisingly smooth to touch.

Lost in the thought she didn't even notice that someone else entered her house quietly.

"Arya."

She startled at her own name. When she turned to the intruder she saw Lanna. As always Lanna was clad in colorful gown and with ribbons in her fair hair. The girl measured Jon's sleeping form without any shame. She gave Arya an impish grin. "I might be even jealous of you, I think that once the bruises fade he will be rather handsome."

"Then why did you kept quiet when Roose asked?" Arya couldn't keep anger from her voice.

Lanna's look was pitying " What you have might seem little to you, but I have even less. I can't hunt or fish or tell one herb from another. Where would we go if I married him, what would we do? Live under some nice hedge and eat mud? Walton is not letting me live in his house because he is nice."

That was true enough. Lanna would stay with Walton, and when he would grow tired of her, she would have to find some other man, maybe even in the next village. And as the years will go by the men will become older and less caring and the time she would be allowed to stay shorter. Until she would have to beg for a shelter night from night. Like as not, Lanna would live her mother's life.

"What do you wish from me?" Arya asked in more forgiving voice.

"As ungrateful as you are, I came to help. Roose allowed you your own two witnesses. I don't believe you have chosen anyone yet. I came to offer myself."

Arya had the refusal on her tongue, but she hesitated. She did not truly trust Lanna. If it came to a choice between Arya's life and Lanna's wellbeing, Arya wasn't sure the girl would even hesitate. And Arya didn't plan for more witnesses to her humiliation than there needed to be, yet it might be better if she didn't give Roose too much ground. But whom would she choose? Gendry was the first one that came to mind.  _It would be too cruel to ask this from him._ She had to think of someone else. It took her a moment before she came up with a name.

"You can come, if you will bring Noye with you." Arya answered.

Lanna gave her an incredulous look. "I'm the one doing you a favor"

Arya just shrugged "That's the deal." Noye might not be her friend, but he was an honorable man. If Roose was up to something that might help her.

Despite her first protest Lanna agreed to at least try. Once she was gone, there was nothing left but wait for the sun to reach its peak.

A memory came to Arya unbidden. From the time when she was four and ten and her parents still lived the last months granted to them. It had been a very hot summer and she ventured far enough from village to reach the river called Thawa. As she was coming from the water Arya learned, that she was not alone. To her surprise it was Gendry. There was a half full sack at his feet and he was watching her with a strange look. Arya called him by name, not shy though her clothing was on pile not far from them, but he didn't answer. Instead he came to her as in the daze and kissed her hungrily.

It was her first kiss from a man and it might have been more, for she liked it well enough, but the next moment hedges rustled, and three elks run their way. Arya jumped to one side, Gendry to other. The animals stormed right between them, followed by Nymeria. The wolf's pace was mild, it had been just a sport and not true hunt. Arya started to laugh and run for her clothes and that was end of it. Gendry had accompanied her the whole way to the village but he did not dare even to kiss her again. The only other kiss she got from him was when a year later he asked her to marry him. 

Her life would have been different if she had bedded Gendry that nice summer day. Everything had been easier than and she knew Gendry all her life. Now she would have to endure being touched by a stranger in front of dispassionate old men, as if she was a cow or mare to be bred. Unwished tears threatened to spill from her eyes, but she fought them. Once her face was under control she called Jon's name and woke him. He looked as if he could use more rest, but there was no time.

Noon came way quicker than Arya would have wished. Roose was first one to enter and Lanna followed him. The girl kept her word and Noye came too. The old smith did not look happy about what he was to see. Then came witness Roose picked himself. One was Barbrey, a stern woman whose family lived in the Barrows, the closest village to the west, and bred fine horses. A surprisingly considerate choice, but the fifth person bore the face Arya wished to see the least. It was Jeyne.  _Did she wish to come? Did Roose choose her, to hurt me?_  It was hard to tell. For Roose, Arya had learned long ago, people were like puppets. He was just as likely to pull the strings to harm as to reward and one could never be too sure which one was happening.

Roose and Barbrey seated themselves, the rest had to stand, aside of Arya and Jon, who shared her bed. The house seemed even more unpleasantly overcrowded than she had imagined. Beside her Jon tensed as he watched the visitors.

"Arya, I hope you do not mean to stall us here all day. You do know what happens between a man and a woman?" Roose asked. Arya was almost sure she heard Jeyne snicker at the question.

"I do." She took a small studying breath and turned to Jon. He was watching and listening everything, but Arya didn't think he could know what was happening. It was up to her to make him understand what they had to do. With cold, wooden fingers, but determined, she disrobed. Jon watched her with bewilderment and his eyes kept flickering to the other people in the room. Arya made an effort not to look at them.

It was one of the worst moments of her life. She sat naked in the cold air and people who were not her friends were watching her, judging. With sudden terror it occurred to her, that she never considered what would happen if a man she had wedded refused her. Arya started to shiver, but then Jon's arms reached for her and he took her into embrace.

His warmth was more than welcome. Even if it was act born of kindness rather than desire. Arya would not mind lingering like this longer, but she feared it would earn her another comment from their unwelcome companions. She did not know what she would do then. Jon sensed her disquiet. His hand came to her face and gently he titled it so they were facing each other. There was a question waiting upon his broken lips, but he did not know how to voice the words and she didn't know how to answer. In the end, a silent nod was enough. He entangled his hands and in sure, efficient movements got rid of his own clothing.

He was built well, though not unmarked by life. There were fresh bruises at his chest and arms and older scars too. Both cuts and burns. Some of them were almost as big as her hand. Jon gave her a moment to just look before he kissed her lightly, mindful of his own injuries. Arya closed her eyes and let him guide her. His hands trailed her body. She felt strange, but not unpleasant tension building in her loins.

In than moment, however, one of the witnesses coughed and it broke the spell. Arya would have turned to the sound, but Jon stopped her. He kissed her again. He led her own hand across his skin and brought them close.

There was a pain she heard of from women's talk, but most of all it felt strange. Sooner than Arya could decide if she liked it or not, it was over and Jon was pulling from her.

Roose's amused voice broke through her fragile peace. "That went well. And fast. It seems that we are done here."

Arya would not look at any of them, she turned to Jon. With cold eyes he watched Roose and his companions leave. Only when they were alone Jon's face softened.

"Thank you," she told him and she meant it, but somehow, she felt like weeping too. 

 

**Outlander's hope**

He dreamt of wolves. Not ones with red cast to their fur he knew well, but of magnificent beasts, grey and black, bigger than any lion. He ran with them, as them, in strange thick woods which smelled of damp and cold.

"Jon."

The forest disappeared.

 _Jon,_ that was the name the old washerwoman from the mansion called him. Supposedly, at his mother's last wish. Jon wondered what Elia would do when she learned. Only, then he remembered she was dead for years. He was not in the mansion with olive orchards in Tyria, not in Aegon's Valyrian's palace, not even in stark barracks in Bhorash.

"Jon."

He woke for true. It took few moments for the confusion to disappear. It was not morning. The day was at its middle and his surroundings were as strange as the dream had been. The pretty village girl was looking at him with her sad grey eyes. Not for the first time Jon wished there was more light in the house. The small window bellow the roof was in truth no more than a smoke hole. It gave just enough light to go about most mundane of businesses. No one would be reading in this room, but for all he knew these people used no writing. Few did outside the Freehold and he was so far away from it, in the lands he never even heard off. Maybe he should try to ask the girl how the village was called. The girl's own name was Arya, he had learned.

Before Jon could attempt anything, his intent was interrupted by the arrival of five people. One after another they bended to pass the low door and entered the room. Three were women and two men. It was the first man, who disquieted Jon the most. His age was hard to tell. His face neither handsome nor comely, but his strange pale eyes were hard to forget. This was the man, who had spoken in the morning at the hill. The one whose order village men sought after they found and beaten him.  _Had I been too quick to think I had escaped death_? Jon wondered. He was sure he would die as they led him through the rain with bare feet and tied hands. But then they cut the ropes at his writs and Arya led him to one of the houses. She gave him water to drink and wash and food to eat and he had been sure...

The Pale-Eyes’ face betrayed nothing. Jon turned to others. The second man was past forty and a cripple. His left arm was missing, but his right was well muscled and he had a sturdy statue. The man’s tight held lips showed anger. The oldest of the women was of age with the one-armed man, though still somehow handsome. Jon guessed her to be of some standing. She was the only one to seat herself together with the village leader. She appeared bored.

The other two women were young. Likely not much older than Arya. One was more pretty than the other with soft face, fair hair and bright gown. Jon had noticed her even in the morning. He misliked the look the young women were spotting. Those barely concealed half smiles and expectation in their eyes. He had seen that look at many executions. Finally, he turned to Arya. The girl ruled her face well, but her body was tense as if she was a deer who just raised its head to see a hunter. All strength gathered and folded, prepared to flee or fight for life.

The Pale-Eyes spoke. Arya's answer was short and angry. Someone else in the room snickered. Arya took a deep breath and turned to Jon. She was nervous, even her hands were trembling slightly, but there was a determined look in her eyes. She began to disrobe.

Jon could only watch frozen by confusion and surprise. She was beautiful, yet he remained very aware of the other people in the room. What was the meaning of this all? Was this part of some strange ritual? The last taste of pleasure before they offered his life to their foreign gods as he had heard was custom in Pentos? If so, they would not find him meek and willing. In the morning, he had been too hungry, too tired, too lost and hopeless to fight. Now his strength and fury was on him. Only if he knew for sure, what was happening.

Arya got rid of the last of her garnets with a stiffness he hadn't seen in her before. Jon made no move to touch her. He searched her face, trying to gather any answer he could. There was still that steely determination, but he noticed fear too. Soft tremble echoed through her naked body. If it was due cold or fear he didn't know, but he took her in an embrace. She didn't bolt away, instead he felt her calm. Jon tried not to get distracted by her nakedness, but her body was pleasantly soft and warm. She smelled of smoke and some herbs he didn't know. He would not mind staying like this longer, but he knew they did not have time. Gently he titled her head so they were facing. Her eyes were pleading, but was she asking him to stop or to proceed? They both waited, their breaths so shushed he could hear clearly even the quietest noises of other people in the house, unwelcome and disturbing. And then she nodded.

Jon freed himself of his clothes in practiced dispassionate manner. Whatever shyness he ever possessed, his time in army had cured him of it. He granted the visitors not a glance, it was Arya who received all his attention. Despite poor light, he could see her cheeks color with blush as she regarded his naked form. She was some years older than the age Valyrian highborn girls married, but Jon could guess she had little experience with men. She deserved better than this, but there seemed to be little help to their circumstances.

His kiss was careful, for his sake as much as hers. Jon could only curse his injured face. He was one guiding her. Her touches were uncertain while he grew greedier with each passing moment. Yet, just as he was starting to believe it might go well, one of the women coughed. Arya startled and tensed. Somewhere along the way they had closed their eyes, ready to forget about the world around them, but now she was looking uncertain, clearly distracted by the people in the room. Arya was about to look at them, but he stopped her. If she looked, she likely would not be able to continue. He wouldn't. He kissed her again. Still, it was hard to forget those eyes watching them. He wanted them all gone, to leave them be. The girl was sweet, but it was getting harder not to get distracted. He needed... Carefully he led her small hand. She had calluses on her palms, so unlike highborn women from home who never held anything rougher than a silver spoon, but her touch was good.

The bedding was over embarrassingly quickly. Were things different, Jon would have tried to bring her pleasure, but at least something he seemed to accomplish. It appeared that their visitors witnessed what they come to see and began to depart. The pale-eyed man, whom Jon was quickly learning to hate was the only one to speak. Arya didn't answer. Jon himself watched them go just as quietly. Anger burned hot inside him. They should not have been there. When the intruders were finally gone, he turned to Arya who still lied in his arms. She told him something quietly.

"You are beautiful." He answered, even if he knew that she would understand no more than he could know the meaning of her own words. Jon reached for furs to cover them in the creeping chill, but she stopped him. She stood up from the bed and went to clean and dress herself.

He turned away granting her some privacy, but he could not miss a trail of blood at the bedding. She had been a maiden indeed. That fueled his fury.  _Someone will one day pay for this,_  he vowed to himself. But even the plans of vengeance were not enough and the more he thought about it, the more clearly a decision was forming in his mind. As Arya was starting to dress again he stood and came to her.

Gently he took her hands in his. It occurred to him abruptly that his beaten face was not much to look at, but as with many things, it could not be helped. He needed to show her how it should be, even if he was never to kiss her again. He kissed her now and pulled away. Jon waited for her response, hoping she would somehow understand his plea. There was no desire in her eyes, but neither fear or loathing, only curiosity. That would have to be enough.

He took his time the second time they lied together. Learning her body and whispering small nothings to her skin, listening to breathless words of her own. When they were done he kept his arms around her. Arya gave him small smile, but then to his horror, tears appeared in her eyes.

"Gods forgive me, if I..."

As if she could understand him, Arya shook her head. Angrily, she whipped away wetness of her cheeks. When she spoke, her voice was firm.

"If I live till the next moonturn, I swear I will learn your tongue and talk to you properly." Jon wowed aloud, and then because it was not enough by far he added "And I will treat you with all the care and respect the wife deserves, if you would have me."

She answered, but for all he knew, she could be cursing him. The girl untangled from his arms, but to his relief it was only to reach for furs to cover them and then she was nestled at his side again. Her head titled to him, and she asked him something. Jon was sure her words were meant to be a question, but which one he could not guess. He decided that he could answer anyway. Maybe she just liked the sound of his voice. He liked hers.

"My father Rhaegar came from one of the most powerful Valyrian families. He brought my mother from some faraway land on his dragon and married her as his second wife in a custom that hadn't been uphold in centuries. " Jon began hesitantly, but found that though the girl couldn't understand, it wasn't same as talking to himself. “You look little like her. My father had her likeness made. He didn't even live to see it finished and my mother died birthing me. Father's first wife Elia had me brought out of sight in a mansion in Tyria. She had me called Daemon, for the most infamous bastard. Elia came once a year to inquire how I was faring, but she never spoke to me. When I was fifteen she died too."

While the day was still bright outside, the inside of the house bathed in shadows. Arya was watching him, listening. Jon had been drawn to her from the first moment he had glimpsed her among the crowd. She was without a doubt pretty, beautiful even, but it was more than that. There was a queer feeling of familiarity. When he first saw her, Jon had to ask if they were kin. It was strange, people here looked more like Jon than his own half siblings. Common folk and lesser nobility of Valyria possessed dark brown eyes, coal-black hair and bronze skin. The dragonlords had pale skin and hair and violet eyes, looks as precious to them as their dragons. Jon looked neither.

He didn’t even notice when he got quiet, lost in thoughts. Small hand touching his arm took him back. Arya was looking at him expectantly.

“You want me to continue? I could be telling you in length how best to dig latrine ditches and you wouldn’t know.” She might have understood well enough that he was teasing her, because she scowled at him. For someone so pretty she had a fearsome glare, but he liked it better than her tears. Jon took a breath and spoke.

"After Elia's death, my half-brother Aegon sought me out. He had a sister, Rhaenys, but no brother. He wished for me to live in his palace. I loved my brother."  _And I wish I could believe he is not dead. Yet…_ "Yet the longer I was with him, the more I desired all he had. Some nights before I went to sleep under his own roof I kept thinking how it would be if he died and I took his place, his dragon, his bride... Until one day I stopped for a moment to think of a man I was becoming. I couldn't stand the answer. I run as far as I could and never looked back." Of its own accord, his hand traveled to Arya’s hair trailing between her wild tresses. Jon couldn't help but think of Daenerys with her silvery hair, always combed and scented by an army of maids.

"Bhorash, was the place where I ended, and soldier was all I was for years. There is a saying, that no one ever doubted that Bhorash is part of the Freehold, for all know that it's hair on its arse. It's the nicest thing said about the town. But I rose through ranks quickly." So did Aegon, Jon had heard about his brother’s growing glory even all way in Borash. How liked he was among the common people, how lovely was his wife, how sad it was that their child was stillborn. And then the tiding of his death arrived with the sight of Viserys.  _I rose too high, otherwise Viserys would have never found me._

Jon looked at Arya to see that her eyes were closed. Her breath was deep and even. She had fallen asleep somewhere along the way. Jon felt an absurd pang of regret, that she would not hear the end of the story. About the flight and the dragon that had abandoned him in the woods. It was such a silly thought. She couldn't even understand him. But maybe, one day...

He inhaled her scent, enjoying their shared warmth and even the cold of the air. It meant he was still alive. After everything he was still alive. Lost and beaten and without hope to ever return to anything he knew. Yet as the girl moved in her sleep, he dared to hope that maybe they won't kill him the next day. He would never be the man Aegon had been, but maybe he was not unlucky after all.     

  

**Smith's anger**

Boy's piercing cries brought him to the house. Gendry had never liked when Jeyne's mother took care of their son. There was something too harsh about the woman. Sometimes he wondered how Sybell could have brought up children of her own. But what he knew of mothers? His own mother died or abandoned him, before he was even old enough to remember her.

The house seemed damp and cold, as always when Gendry was returning from the forge. Sybell sat by the loom and continued her daughter's work while her grandson wailed at her feet.

"You needed not to come." Sybell greeted him. Her eyes didn't leave dyed threats, neither her fingers stopped moving deftly. Light of the open door made shadows dance beneath her hands. "It's just a child's whim."

Gendry did not listen to her, instead he took the boy in his arms and the child quieted. Gendry’s gaze strayed to the grey crown of Sybell's head and then to growing spread of a fabric. If someone put before him two daggers, he could tell if they were cast by one man or not, but with the fabric, he could not tell where the daughter’s work ended and mother’s began.

"Ba, bad, ba." the boy babbled. He had Gendry's looks, thick black hair and blue eyes. All women told he was big for his age too. The child had no name yet. They would name him upon reaching his first year. The day was not even a moonturn away.

"You can return to forge, nothing is amiss," Sybell spoke.

Gendry might have objected, and it might have started another argument between them, but in that moment Jeyne returned. Gendry's wife took their child from him and bid the older woman farewell with a kiss on her cheek.

"I will feed him a get him sleep." Jeyne went to the other room. Sybelle had left, and Gendry knew he should leave too. He did not wish to speak to his wife, yet he could not bring himself to make a step.

Soft sound of a lullaby could be heard. Gendry liked to listen to Jeyne singing. Mostly she sung to their son but sometimes to him too. She sung to him the day he had first kissed her on the harvest feast. Most days it made him feel that he had made a right choice, but today he could not find comfort in her voice. And too soon, Jeyne was back. A fair woman and tall, though not close as tall as he was. Her eyes searched his face, waiting. They both knew, she was daring him to ask.

His voice failed him. Jeyne had to be the one, to break the silence. "She bedded him."

Gendry looked to the ground wordlessly. What did he expect, all knew, it would happen. That, or worse, if Arya did not keep her word. Still, the tiding hit him like a blow. He could not understand what possessed her to spare some stranger's life at the price of her own freedom and dignity. The man was just an outlander and a thief.  _How was he better than me?_  A voice in his mind would not quiet.

"Arya was never reasonable, but for once her folly caught up with her." Jeyne added.

"Stop!" Gendry demanded. It was never good to speak about Arya with Jeyne, but his wife was either too blind to see his growing anger or too caught up in her own.

"Will you never see her for what she is? That one is nothing special, no matter who her father was. She stripped naked, but she had to  _beg_  the man to bed her!"

Gendry's fist clenched and his hand raised just as did Jeyne's voice. He let it down even before the child started to cry in the next room. "I have to return to the forge." He announced curtly, but Jeyne was already going to their son.

The forge was warm and even the rain outside had stopped, yet to Gendry it appeared as if he was still standing in the soft cold fall. He could almost feel mud between his bare toes and bounds on his hands as if it was him whose throat was about to be slit. Would Arya save him too? Would she put her pride aside for his life?

He destroyed more tools than he made that day. Gendry knew he should quit, but the task was all keeping him from thinking of what happened. If he stopped, he feared he would go mad. He was just taking another shapeless piece of bronze from a mold, when he got a visitor.

"Boy, that is not a way to treat good metal. Have I taught you nothing?"

 _I haven't been a boy for some time_. Much less now, when he had son of his own. But Gendry suspected that even if he lived another hundred winters and fathered another hundred sons, Noye would still call him that. Despite everything the familiar face with broad nose and greying stubble managed to make him give a weak smile. "I am just growing old and clumsy."

Noye laughed heartily. Old smith’s age and injury had been catching on him in last years, but he had been always the first one to make a jest of it. "Might be, or there's something on your mind."

Gendry did not wish to speak, but Noye was one of few who could make him talk. Him and Arya. "Did they..." he asked feebly.

"Yes, they bedded." The old smith confirmed.

"Jeyne told me..."

"Jeyne never liked Arya and Arya never liked Jeyne.” Noye shook his head. ”You should not listen a word they say about each other, that is just a bad blood between women. This is not what Eddard would have wished for his daughter, but the man was not unkind to her."

"He is a bloody thief!" Gendry snarled.

The older man looked at him with a stern look Gendry remembered well from childhood. "Not a thief, a killer."

Noye put forward an object covered in cloth he brought with himself. With his one remaining hand the older man uncovered the fabric and handed Gendry a sword. "I got this from Ben Bones for one of mine own and cask of mead. The fool did not know what he held."

The shape of the sword was odd, even more that any sword from south, but the most strange was the metal. It was neither bronze nor copper. Bronze freshly cast had color like good ale. This metal was grey and cold, with ripples of dark and light dancing around each other, beautiful and ugly at the same time. Gendry had never seen such like before. And while an axe could cut wood as much as limbs and with spear man could go hunting, sword was made for one purpose only – killing other men. This weapon would serve its purpose without fail. 

"We should not have let that man live."

"But we did, and we can't take that back least to be cursed by the gods and men alike." Noye covered the sword with a rag again. The gaze beneath bushy brows softened. "I know it's hard to rule one's heart. Still, you should be careful how you look at Arya. She is a married woman now. I do not wish to see you getting hurt or worse. "

The sun had already set by the time Gendry left the forge. Yet his feet would not lead him to his own house. He passed Roose's hall from where talk and song could be heard. Instead he found himself by the fire Lommy and his brothers lit at the border of the village, barely piss away from the old palisade. There were other boys too. All younger than Gendry, all yet unmarried

"They were quicker than rabbits." Lommy's words had begun to blur. Someone must have got some drink from somewhere. Gendry sat at the ground and just as everyone started to laugh a flagon appeared in his hand. He took big sip and passed it forth.

He was thinking that maybe he had finally found a way to stop the pressure that began to build inside him in the morning, when Elmar spoke. "She got what she deserved. We should be glad we are not saddled with her."

Elmar was never observant or he would not have touched Gendry's arm. Luckily for him, Noye must have hammered at least some wisdom into Gendry's thick head over the years. He managed to stop himself before he could find out if beating this one bloody would make him feel any better. Gendry traded with too many of Elmar's kin. The smith stood abruptly and left without as much as a word.

As he was walking away quickly the talk and laugh of youths were fading, Gendry remembered what Jeyne had told him more than once. He should be with men in the hall and not with boys outside. But if there was anything that appealed to him less than returning to the fire he just left, it was feasting under Roose's roof. It might have been different if Eddard still lived, but it was worth nothing pondering on that.

His legs led him through the village in heedless disquiet. Gendry's knuckles almost touched the wood before his troubled mind caught up with the rest of the world. His hand was hovering breath away from rough cut wood that made door of Arya's house.

Mercifully, there was no one around. He was alone. If anyone had seen him he would be on their talk for months. Yet he could not help himself to wait for a moment and listen. The house yielded not a sound.

Noye would have a place for him, but like as not he was already asleep. Gendry did not have a heart to wake the older man. And suddenly he felt he could not stand to remain in the village any longer. His eyes found the sky. For the all fog in the morning, it had cleared and the stars shone brightly with cold blue light. Even the moon was up, though only half of its face was visible. It would be too dark in the woods, most trees still held leaves. Maybe if he walked along the meadows... then he remembered just the place.

Barely anyone came there, even if Winter Field was named by it. The trail led through a gap in old palisade, around the hill where dead were buried and through the bush of hazel nuts and old berries.

It was even darker among the low trees than he expected. Gendry could just barely make out the trail under his feet. The forest even sounded different. The birds whose songs he knew by heart were quiet and every time he stopped, he could hear soft rustle of leaves and branches as some unseen creature went around its nocturnal business. Gendry would never tell it to a living soul, but he felt relived once the trees were behind him.

Moon and stars gave shape to the descending hill. White rocks in the middle of the slope appeared only slowly. In the dark of the night they seemed to be shining. Though at no place higher than a house, they were three times as wide. To one side there was a crack and short way to hot springs.

Winter Field was not a field, but a meadow, yet there was some truth to its name. Water came from the rocks in dozen of springs. Some were lukewarm, some too hot to drink from. Ponds formed here and there for the slope of the hill was nowhere too steep.  And there, around the steaming water and heated stone the ground would not freeze, and the grass would grow even in the coldest of winters.

From where Gendry stood soft murmur of the water could be already heard. Tonight, there were different sounds too. He needed listen only a moment to recognize Arya’s voice. It should not have surprised him. It had been her, who had shoved him the springs for the first time when they had been children. That girl always loved water.

"I will go hunting on the morrow. I will take you with me if you promise not to make noise," she was saying. Gendry made care to stay quiet and in shadows as he came closer. Arya was swimming in one of the ponds, though it was likely not deeper than her waist.

He was so taken by the vision of her in soft blue glow of the stars that he didn't even notice her companion until the man answered her in his own strange tongue. Gendry found him sitting in the grass. Anger kindled in him anew. It weaved with desire as Arya stood and rose from the steaming water. Gendry had seen her bathing once and he had been so charmed that he kissed her. Her family still lived then, her father and brothers would have broken all his bones if they knew.

She looked even more beautiful tonight. Her movements were unhurried as she dried herself in a piece of linen and put a shift over her head. "I might even take you with me if I leave for…” The fabric muffled part of her words as she was dressing.

Gendry was surprised by the softness of her voice. Arya had always been quick to anger and when the times were better even quick to laugh, but her other moods she showed rarely.

As the first time, the outlander answered her in words she could not understand.  _Why they are even talking, when they don't know other's tongue?_ Gendry wondered. For some reason it made him even angrier. He should leave, he knew. It would be pleasant to sink his sore body in the hot water, but he didn't wish to let his presence known. However, he had waited too long.

Before he could make first step his intend was marred by a loud growl behind his back. Gendry turned. Two shining eyes and barred teeth was all he could see clearly, but he could recognize Nymeria, Arya's wolf. The bitch was standing at an arm length and looking as wild and menacing as Gendry had ever seen her.    

"WHO IS THERE?! SHOW YOURSELF!" Arya shouted, but Gendry just stood frozen in his spot watching the wolf warily as Nymeria's mistress hurried to him.

"Gendry?" Arya asked confused when she found them. "Nymeria, let him be!" The wolf hid her teeth and took few hesitant steps back, but her eyes did not leave him. Arya looked between him and the wolf. Gendry could see clearly when understanding drawn to her. Her face flushed red.

"How long have you been hiding here?"

"Not too long." That was neither lie nor truth.

"You should not watch me bathe."

"You haven't minded once." His own voice sounded unfamiliar to him. Was it just two years past? Were it really them, those children? It seemed so long ago.

She cast her eyes down. "I am married now."

 _You were not married just this morning_ , he wanted to shout. He walked to her. "Arya -" he never got to touch her. Hard blow from side made him lose his balance. The ground was hard and cold. Gendry could feel pieces of stone under his back. Even more startling was the relentless weight keeping him down. In the first moment he thought that the she-wolf had attacked him, but then he regained his senses and saw the face. 

The man.  _More fool me, to forget he was here._  In dim light the outlander's beaten face looked hardly human. His eyes were unreadable in dark shadows. Gendry thought he could fight him off, he never met stronger man then himself, but then he felt blade of his own dagger on his neck. Noyes words ringed in his head loud and clear, as two pieces of metal meeting each other,  _I do not wish to see you getting hurt, or worse._ Would the old smith take care of the boy and Jeyne? Would someone tell the child what man his father had been? Gendry wondered. But, his death did not come.

"Jon!" Arya cried. "Jon, let him go!"

The man released him, though he kept the dagger.  _Bloody thief_. Gendry stood up, careful not to lose the outlander from his sight. The other was watching him just as warily.

"I will return the dagger, when I teach him enough words to tell him that this was just a quarrel among friends." Arya promised in a guilty voice.

Gendry snorted. "Are we friends, Arya? You are a woman, you knew how I felt about you, we could never be friends."

Hurt was clear at her face as she ran past him, her wolf following at her heels. Gendry stayed alone with the outlander for a moment. Neither spoke. The young smith could feel the other man's hostility.  Arya’s husband was the first to move. He followed his wife. As Gendry watched their black silhouettes grow smaller he found he did not feel angry anymore. Only lost.

 

**Sister's worry**

Puddles on the road were frozen solid, though they have yet to see any snow. The path itself become narrower with each day passing north. Sansa looked at the sky and sent a silent prayer for the good weather to last. This would need to be a short visit, least the winter catch her. She should not have waited so long, but she should neither came while Jasper was still too young. Her little son whom she had left home had just turned one.

Thinking about Jasper made her think of Jeyne and her boy. He and Jasper were of age. Had the child been named already? It was custom in northern lands never to name children before their first year. Sansa's own mother who came from south found that too strange. Catelyn had confessed to her daughter that she had named all her children upon their birth at least in her heart. Sansa missed her still. It had been more than two years, yet the loss felt fresher than a memory of her morning meal.

That night she had sneaked from the house to meet with Jeyne. Old Nan had told them to go to hot springs on new moon to glimpse morrows in the stream. Sansa had been promised to Harrold already and thought she knew what her future held, but Jeyne had insisted they must go both. They met in secret by the palisade. It was so dark that they could barely find the way. Their courage left them even before they reached the nearest trees.

Jeyne had to face her mother's anger upon her return. No one was there to scold Sansa. In that first moment among the chaos and shouting people, she had been sure it was Rodrik's house burning. Sansa had though how horrible it was, but she felt relief too that it was not her own home. Only, she had been wrong. 

Sansa rearranged pin holding her cloak and smoothed its folds. As if any fabric could protect her from death and destruction. She had cried and wailed that whole night, and nothing could quiet her. As soon as sun had risen she run back to her parents’ house. Even then some part of her still believed it all must have been a mistake or a nightmare.

All her hoping and wishing had been for naught. There were only ashes and ruins. She wasn't alone, however. Chance had led Sansa from the house that night, but her wild little sister was wont to sneak away whenever their mother's watchful eye would as much as blink. The tight embrace Arya gave her might have been the first in their lives. Like as not, the last as well. 

Sansa's gaze turned up to shapes in forest and softly waving hills. Were they close yet? It was no good guessing. Everything looked familiar and strange at the same time and she barely knew the wood. When she had been a girl, Sansa preferred to stay in the village with her looms and her friends. She was unlike Arya in that. Born not even two years apart, they could not be more different. They were never close. In the end, even their family's death didn't bring them closer.

After the fire Roose offered Sansa a roof above her head and she had no other choice but to accept. Sansa would had rather stayed with Jeyne, but Jeyne's mother let it known that there was no place for her. At that time, it seemed, as if Sansa's life had ended the same night as her brothers'. She had been sure that Roose’s kindness wasn’t for free and she would have to marry him or someone else of his choosing. All her dreams of marriage to Harrold and the south seemed lost. Oh, they had been intended already, but her family's promises and gifts were to be part of that union. Her prospects were so gloom, that she thought to rather kill herself more than once. She never found the courage.

It was Harrold who saved her in the end. He stayed loyal to her despite everything. One day he rode to the village on his fine tall horse to took her away. She never looked back.  _And now I am returning._ The wagon which carried her was full of cloth, fruits, and jewels. They would trade them for furs, tin and weapons, but Sansa had another task too.

As much as she was content in her life and marriage, her thoughts kept returning to Arya. Worry and guilt gnarled at her tummy. Roose made the same offer of hospitality to Arya, but she never took it. Instead she disappeared with her wolf in the woods for so long that Sansa had wondered if she would ever see her again. And when Arya finally reappeared she took a shelter in half-fallen ruin of an abandoned house. Sansa had been horrified. As if it was not enough people gave them looks because of their misfortune, Arya decided to live like some madwoman. They had a fight about that. The silence which followed lasted until Sansa left with Harrold. She had tried to forget her sister then. Sometimes she even succeeded, but never for long. One night before sleep she had confessed her thoughts to her husband. He just waved his hand. "Bring her here, she is still young. I can marry her to a man in my service."

Harrold’s offer would not leave her mind, but Sansa had her doubts. Arya had a way of ruining things. In the end they had agreed to marry her to Harrold's distant kin, a boy slightly younger than Arya, who lived three days ride away. That was far enough if she caused trouble, but much closer than Winter Field. The tricky part would be to make Arya comply, but Sansa decided to ascent that mountain step by step. Her first task was to get Arya to Arryn. If nothing else there the younger girl would have no place to run. Of course, Sansa had mentioned none of that in a message she had sent. She knew she mustn't, or she would find only her sister's cold trail upon her arrival. Even so, she worried what tidings will greet her.

"Lady, we are here." Lothor told her suddenly.

Sansa looked ahead and saw nothing but trees.

"There are trails of smoke on the sky and no other village ahead." The man continued as if he could read her mind. And soon enough Sansa could smell the smoke and hear dogs barking and then even shrieks and laughter of children.

The road turned and entered the meadows and turned twice more among the fields before they saw the stakes of palisade covered with moss and thatched roofs. No one stopped them at the entrance to the village. Only as Lothor halted the horses inside, people flocked at them. Even if big for northern lands, Winter Field was much smaller than Arryn. Sansa knew all the villagers by name.

Lothor helped her from the wagon and no later than her slipper touched the ground greetings enveloped her from all sides. Sansa returned each one with a smile. Yet she could not miss how their eyes lingered at her clothes, her jewels or eight mounted men Harrold send as her escort. It filled her with some pride. It made her sad too. In Arryn she was still a newcomer, but these simple, colorless people no longer felt as her own kind. 

"Sansa!" Jeyne came from the direction of her mother's house. She didn't look much changed, but there was a child in her arms. The boy had a mop of shaggy black hair. He appeared both taller and more robust than Sansa’s own son.

"Jeyne."

"Jene," the child tried to repeat the word.

"Sansa, it’s good to see you." Jeyne told her with wide eyes and smile. The difference in their clothing was even more striking than it had been before, and Sansa was sure Jeyne noticed it too, but the other woman seemed genuinely happy to reunite, and so was Sansa.

"I am glad to see you well. Is this your son, what is his name?" The boy was watching Sansa with raw interest and small thumb in his mouth. He had his father's blue eyes too.

"He doesn't have name yet. On the morrow is his naming." Jeyne announced proudly and smoothed boy's hair.

"I won't miss it." Sansa promised.

"Lady," Lothor's voice made her turn and she saw that Roose arrived at last. Though she was no longer that desperate girl who had lived in his house, the sight of his pale eyes and bloodless-face still made Sansa’s skin prickle. Yet she would have to be his guest for the visit. Roose was Winterfil's elder now, it would be an offense is she took shelter elsewhere.

"Lady," Roose greeted her in a southern way. Sansa refused to be frightened by him, but his whispery voice and knowing half-smile made her silently repeat names of all staunch men Harrold had send with her.  _I am safe, Roose had no power over my life anymore._

"It's good to see you well. It lightens my heart that the fate was kind at least to one of Eddard's daughters," Roose told her once they were under his roof and had shared bread and ale. The words filled her with dread. Not for a moment was she fool enough to think that he was just praising her good marriage. Did she come too late?  Arya had never answered her message. Sansa assumed it was just her sister being stubborn as always. Could have something happened? She would have to find out quickly, but not from Roose. Sansa commanded all her graces not to let her worry appear at her face.

The rest of their folk seemed to drag forever, until Roose finally had to return to his duties and she was free to make her own inquires.

Her feet led her to stables, where she found youngest of her men. Waymar wasn't alone however. Lanna at least had a grace to put her dress back in place, though neither Sansa's presence nor neighing of horses seemed to fasten her movements.

The girl was still pretty enough, but her ribbons and bright, worn-out gown seemed crude and ridiculous to Sansa now. When Sansa had been little she didn't know why her mother had been upset whenever she talked to Lanna or Lanna’s mother, but Sansa was always eager to please so she tried to avoid them. Not so Arya. Sansa just hoped no one would talk once they returned, to Arryn. There it would be highly unseemly for any respectable woman to as much as greet someone like Lanna.

"Waymar, you can go to the hall and join the rest of the men." Sansa ordered the youth.

"I was to be staying with the horses, lady."

"They will be safe here." She declared in voice that allowed no argument, and this time he knew better than to debate.

"I don't know" Lanna drawled once he was gone, "they look rather fine horses, better than the ones we have here, so do your jewels."

"I can share some with you, if you tell me how Arya was faring in my absence."

Lanna didn't take the offer instantly, she pondered for a moment. "I want something else, take me south with you."

Sansa was far from pleased by those words. "Customs are different in the south," she began carefully, but Lanna was having none of that.

"And you can spy on your sister yourself." the girl turned to leave.

Sansa cursed silently. She had forgotten how prickly Lanna could be. Quickly she put down one of her bracelets and caught girl’s hand. She forced the trinket into Lanna's palm. "Tell me if she is well."   

Lanna brushed the bracelet with her thumb. It was just a copper wire, a piece Sansa wouldn’t even wear to feast, but still much finer than anything the other girl owned. Lanna looked back at her "How can I tell, I doubt Arya herself knows. Don't be a fool, Sansa, just talk to her."

 _You are wrong, I'm no fool. Now I at least know she's still alive, S_ ansa thought, and wondered what game was Roose playing now.

"Where do I find her?"

"Am I her kin to watch all her steps?" Lanna answered and Sansa knew she was not entirely forgiven for her refusal to take the other girl south.

The house Arya had taken for hers looked as small as Sansa remembered, but somehow less dreadful. Arya had daubed the walls anew even before Sansa had left Winter Field. Now the roof looked somehow repaired as well thought it still covered only part of the house. No noise was heard from inside. Sansa knocked at the door. When she heard no answer, she entered.

She had never been inside before. It was a small room overflowing with dried food, pots and furs. The place was much more strained and dim than Sansa's own home, but there was order to it too. Still, Arya would be leaving little behind once she moved south.

 _I should go to the hot springs,_ Sansa thought, but she had no wish to leave the village just yet. No, first she would ask around. Only, Arya had always had too few friends. Sansa’s sister had been too rough for other girls, but when she reached certain age, boys started to notice that she herself was a girl too. There was no one… aside of Gendry, of course! Sansa chided herself for not remembering earlier.

Gendry was a foundling without kin. He was always sweaty from the forge and sullen as an old man (as Jeyne agreed whole hardly at the time). Sansa had never got much interest in him. Once she might though him way below her sister, but he would have been a best husband Arya could hope for after their parents’ death. When Sansa heard that it was Jeyne he had married in the end, she felt sorry for her sister. She could not fault Jeyne though. With an intent or without, Sansa had no doubt that Arya had a hand in that outcome.  

As most forges in the north or south Gendry’s was a simple shelter with one wall open. The young smith was inside, sharpening blade of a new sword. He didn't look at her before he was done.

"Gendry” Sansa greeted him, ”I have seen your son, you are doing well. I have some orders, but first I would like to ask about Arya-"

"We are not at good terms at the nonce." The force of his words took her aback. Something must have happened between them. Sansa would wish to know more, but it would be foolish to press the matter.

"I am sorry to hear that. My offer still stands though. We can talk more of it at the feast, if you will come."

Gendry snorted. "Jeyne would have my hide, if I won't. And I wouldn't wish to offer anyone so close to my son's naming."

Sansa nodded in understanding. It was great ill-luck for the child if even one member of the village didn't attend. Even old, ill and prisoners were gathered by their kin or captors.

 _Maybe I should talk to Old Nan,_  Sansa thought, the old woman always knew whatever happened in the village, but she decided to first look after Lothor and the rest of her men.

Sansa didn't reach Roose's house before she came face to face with no other than Arya herself. Her sister stood there with three dead rabbits thrown across her back and her huge wolf at her side.

“Sansa.” Her sister made no move to embrace her, but maybe that was because she knew Sansa well. She would have to restrain herself not to pull half of Arya’s hair out if she touched her still stinking of the kill.  _Maybe not all had changed_ , Sansa though. She regarded the rabbits’ dangling heads and mud and blood at her sister’s clothes with displeasure.

“Wait for me, I will bring those to the house,” Arya gestured to dead animals, “and then you can walk me to the springs. Once I bathe I might be even allowed to great you properly.” Arya gave her an annoying grin. Sansa half opened her mouth to argue, but quickly remembered that Arya would love nothing more than prove her wrong.

 _How are you faring?_ , Sansa wanted to ask as they were nearing bushes of hazel nuts and old berries, but Arya was quicker. “How is Harrold treating you, how is my nephew?”

Before she knew how, Sansa found herself talking about her life in Arryn. Arya seemed most interested in Jasper.  _Maybe I could use it to make her come south,_ Sansa thought.

They were almost by the springs, when Arya’s curiosity was finally sated, and Sansa could ask herself.

Instead of answering Arya stopped and chewed her lip. The gesture always annoyed Sansa.

The silence was already too long when Arya turned back toward the village with thoughtful look in her grey eyes. “Some things have changed.” The words came out slowly.

When nothing else followed, Sansa lost her patience. After Roose, after Lanna, she could not help to feel as if Arya was toying with her too. Even if some calmer, wiser voice reminded her that it was not in her sister’s nature. It came clear to her suddenly, that this journey and her return to Winter Field drained her more than she would have ever thought. She was too tired and weary to be calm.

“Just tell me!“ Sansa demanded, feeling for a moment like a girl she had been years ago. A foolish child. Arya never ever done anything that was demanded from her. Yet no argument followed, Sansa’s words did not move Arya an inch. The younger girl’s eyes reminded unfocused for an instant but then a flicker of emotion flew through her face. Sansa could sense sudden tension in her stance. Quickly she turned to see what her sister did.

Someone was walking towards them descending from a slight hill. Evening sun shone above his shoulder hiding him its glow. Sansa cursed silently, this was the worst possible time. Her eyes narrowed accusingly at both the sun and the intruder. She could not tell who it was until the man was only few feet away from them.

Sansa had never met him before. He looked not much past twenty. His clothes would mark him for a Northman readily. Something about the way he held himself uneased her and as he walked closer to them she glimpsed axe at his back and dagger at his hip.

If it was to protect or to be shielded herself, she wouldn’t know, but Sansa reached for Arya’s elbow. However, even before she had a time to decide if the man was truly a threat or curse herself for leaving her escort behind, Arya covered her hand with her own.

“That is just Jon, my husband.”

“Where is he from?” Sansa asked quietly, not leaving the man out of sight.  _When did you marry? Why?_  She wanted to shout.

“He’s from Valyria.”

“I never heard of such a village.” The name sounded so strange. Sansa was not even certain she could repeat it. 

“I don’t know if it’s a village. I haven’t taught him enough words to ask yet.”

Bad feeling quickened in Sansa’s gut. “How did you come to marry?”

Arya bit her lip. “I couldn’t let them slit his throat. He just took few blackthorns from the bushes by the meadows.”

“You- “ Sansa could not even finish. Hardly even girl like Lanna would gain much from union with a man whose life had been already offered to death. Even children of Arya‘s children would be shunned.

If her sister told her anything else Sansa wouldn’t know. She turned at her heel too angry to listen.

Leave it to her sister to do something so enormously foolish! Sansa wanted to scream  _Why?_ , but it was Arya and sense was often stranger to her sister’s actions. By the time she came to the village Sansa calmed enough not to show her distress on her face. Arya had lied waste at all her plans. Even if her sister became widow shortly, would Harrold agree to marry her to his own kin now? No, she would have to come with some other plan. But first she needed to prepare for a feast Roose called to her honor.

She had dressed anew, the gifts were prepared, her men told how to behave. Sansa was just waiting for the serving women to bring fresh water and to help her with her hair and jewels, when she heard someone enter from behind. Sansa didn’t even look up at first, certain it was Jonelle, came to braid her hair. The walk was too light though and Sansa turned in alarm.

Arya stood there waiting. Her sister changed her clothes too. Her new gown was clean but very simple, made only of rough, undyed linen.

“You should not be here,” Sansa told her quietly. This was Roose’s house and she knew for sure that Arya would rather walk whole winter barefoot than ask Roose of anything. Even if it was just a leave to enter the house. “Serving women will be here soon.”

“They will wait.” Arya answered calmly. “I promised them each meet of my kill and told them that I came to crawl on my knees and beg your forgiveness. They were more than happy to let me do so. I lied.” She added, so there was no confusion about the apology being just a ruse.

 “Why did you come then?”

Arya took a breath “When Roose asked if any woman would took Jon and I came forward, he demanded we bedded before witnesses. I just thought it better it you heard it from me, if you didn’t already. You will have to listen to jests about that tonight I would bet.”

For the first time since she had arrived Sansa felt pity for her sister, but anger too. In a way, Roose shamed them both. “I am sorry, you had to do that,” she told Arya, ”but don’t wait for me to tell you that you hadn’t been foolish.”

Her sister looked at her sharply. “I ruined some plan of yours, didn’t I?”

Sansa found herself unable to lie. She was still quiet when Arya came to her and embraced her tightly. “I don’t think we will ever get along, but I am glad that you are well.” With that Arya left as suddenly as she appeared.

The feast went ahead more smoothly than Sansa expected and she enjoyed Jeyne’s company. They gossiped and laughed and it felt almost as the old times even with Gendry sitting at Jeyne’s site silent and sullen. When the night grew late and guest started to dissolve Sansa went to bed with lighter heart. Still, she could not sleep.

Her thoughts keep turning to Arya. She mulled over her sister’s life back and forth. Sansa could not hope that Harrold would agree marry her to any of his kin now, even if Arya was to became a widow. Maybe Harrold could find some use for Arya’s husband, somewhere out of sight. And surely if the man was indebted to them that would keep her sister’s wild ways under control. And if he proved any trouble, the man could not match the force Harrold kept in his service. Sansa felt asleep content.

The following day went quick with last arrangements and trades. They might have just arrived but they would be leaving only in two days hence. Sansa couldn’t help but look with distrust at every larger cloud. Her life was in Arryn now and she didn’t want to be stuck in Winter Field for a heavy rain or early snow. She meant to seek Arya, but one of her horses had taken suddenly ill and by the time she managed to arrange for a replacement the dark had begun to fall, and people started to gather for the celebration.

In her girlhood Sansa had attended handful of namings. It was a rite where the child finally remerged from the shadowy half-world it inhabited since quickening in mother’s womb, world of all creatures who were not people. If any child died still unnamed it would not be granted funeral with the other dead, nor it was proper for the parents to mourn openly.

By the time it was truly dark the whole village was gathered at the hill. Many fires were burning and people walked from one to other, talking singing and sharing drink and food. At one fire little to the side young girls and boys gathered and giggled with flagon of stolen ale. At another one of Rodrik’s son tented to his coughing grandmother. Old Nan, at least, seemed to fare better. The old woman had an audience made of children who listened to her tales. Sansa found herself joining them, to hear the stories she already knew well. She stood up only after the Last Hero defeated the darkness one more time.

The biggest fire shared Roose with Jeyne and Gendry. Sansa did not stop by it for more than a brief greeting. She had enough of Roose’s company and Jeyne seemed to truly enjoy herself, being the center of attention for once.

Arya’s fire was small. It took Sansa some effort to find it, separated from most of the company as it was. Only two people were warmed by softly crackling flames. Arya and her husband sat on the ground their sides touching.  _Jon, the man’s name is Jon_  Sansa recalled. At first, she thought they were talking. As she came closer she heard that the man was singing quietly. He had a good voice, but the song was queer. His tongue was too foreign for Sansa’s ears to call it beautiful. Arya had no such misgivings, she listened with rapt attention.  _She is fond of him_ , Sansa thought somehow surprised. When the song ended the man bent down and kissed her sister. Sansa called to them.

Arya’s husband looked at her with an unreadable expression. He was not homely, but he lacked Harrold’s fair hair and blue eyes. And judging by his serious face, Sansa doubted he has an easy nature.

“I bring wood?” the man asked Arya. Their fire was still doing well and Sansa understood at once that he was asking Arya if she wanted to be left alone.

“No,” Arya put her hand at his.

“I wanted to tell you, that you can come south to Arryn. I will find a place for you, and Harrold can find a place for Jon,” Sansa offered.

“To serve at your pleasure? I don’t think it would be any good, Sansa. We might leave in the spring, but we won’t go to Arryn, there are other places east and west and north.”

Though Sansa herself had planned to bring Arya to Arryn, hearing from her own mouth that she might leave suddenly sounded wrong, as if the last remand of Sansa’s childhood world was crumbling to dust. She refused to linger upon such misgivings.

“Will you at least come to visit, to see your nephew?” Sansa pressed. She has too little time and she could not just order Arya to come with her now that she was married, but all would be much easier to arrange once her sister was in Arryn.

“Maybe,” was all the answer she got.

 

**Uncle’s greed**

The brown mare could be beautiful if one didn’t look at burns on her side. Even wretched by agony the horse run. Faster than he would had thought possible. Viserys took his eyes away from the last living soul of Bhorash and turned to the sky. The blue of it was bright and flawless as it had been at the day of Aegon’s funeral.

Everything had been splendid that day. Thousands had gathered and Aegon made just as handsome corpse as he had been a man. It was surprising just how easy it all had been.  _Kill one and the rest will follow meekly like the sheep they are._  Only his sweet sister Daenerys had somehow managed to flee him.

For all good it did to her, when she delivered herself to Rhaenys’ hands. Dany must have been deaf and blind not to notice how much the older woman envied and despised her. Rhaeneys had been happy to sell her for no more than few empty promises. Viserys’ sister was with a child again, but that was nothing few beatings could not solve. Soon he would marry her as was the custom among the old blood.

The mare still run away from the charred remains of what had been a town of Bhorash just this morn. There was no hope for the animal, this was her last run. Once she stopped she would never run again.

His men awaited a command yet Viserys kept quiet, admiring his work. The vast spread of burned ground and molten stone. He would not be the first dragonlord to turn a village into ashes. Whole town though… No, he was not a man to be trifled with. This might cause some headache with other families, but in the end, no one ever cared much for Bhorash.

The horse was almost by the edge of the sea, when Viserys made a barest gesture of hand and eleven dragons took fly. The mare never felt the waves. She was burned and devoured before she could reach the water.

He returned to his own dragon and mounted her. Narrx, gold and splendid, the most powerful dragon in whole Valyria. She was worth the wait. Aegon had stolen her as he had stolen Daenerys, but Viserys had finally taken back all that should have been his.

In no time he was above the capitol with his dragonriders following behind. The city‘s mighty towers looked like dry bones reaching for the sky. Viserys had thought Valyria grand once, but that was before he had seen her from above. What seemed immense and solid for those, whose lot it was to forever breath dust of the ground, looked small and fragile if one was blessed with a gift of flight. It was said that crossing the city took half a day in palanquin. On dragon’s back it seemed like half a breath.

As their neared the palace of Targaryan family, the men headed to their quarters. Viserys himself landed on a vast granite terrace flanked by tall sculptures of sphinxes. There was a person awaiting him.

The day was still hot, yet the priestess sat surrounded by three great fires burning in huge braziers. She was leaning to one of them undisturbed by the heat. Coming closer Viserys felt no discomfort either. Heat did not bother him since he bonded with his dragon.

“Lord of Light will be pleased by the sacrifice. From pure maidens and strong warriors to the last horse,” Melisandre told him in her luring voice.

Viserys cared not a spit for her god, but the woman had been of good use since they had met in more ways than one. Though she lacked the looks of dragonlords, she was undoubtedly beautiful with her high, full breasts and flowing red hair.

“Have you found  _him_ , finally?” he asked.  _Deamon._  Elia had gifted him the name to forever mark the shame of his birth. Of course, Viserys’ nephew was quick to shed it.  _Jon_  was the barbarian name he had taken in Bhorash. Viserys had all who had known him questioned sharply.

“I have, my lord. The fires were hungry, but now they are fed by the blood of Borash. Yet, the man you seek is beyond the reach of my power”.

They had such talk already. If a shadow can kill one nephew, why not another? Viserys should had done so anon. Only, he never thought that Daemon could be any threat. Why should a dragon fear a worm? But Deamon had ridden a dragon himself while the beast’s first owner still breathed. A feat yet unheard of. Viserys made sure that no witnesses remained to tell the tale.

After three days the dragon had returned, his nephew did not.

“Where is he?”

“In strange lands beyond the sea.” The ruby on priestess neck glittered as she spoke. ”I saw a blade on his neck but a girl grey as storm saved him. He will be back.”

“No, I will find and kill him first. And you will help me with that,” Viserys told her.

**Author's Note:**

> Jeyne is a mix of three different Jeynes in the books. Jeyne Poole, Jeyne Westerling and Jeyne Heddle.
> 
> The story is not beta-read. Feel free to point out any mistakes you see.


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